Valve
by LonePiper
Summary: Just an average day on the office. "Alchemist, be thou for the Team." Canon compliant. Team Mustang. Royai.


"Damn it," said Fuery as he slammed down the telephone.

It was late morning on an average day and everyone was about some task in the office. Falman was filing documents. Breda and Havoc were completing various operational reports. Hawkeye was preparing documents that required the Colonel's signature. And the Colonel was sleeping.

They all looked up, startled at Fuery's outburst. It was unusual to see the normally affable young man this upset.

All except the Colonel. He stayed reclined in his chair, feet on his desk and eyes closed.

"What's up?" asked Falman as he closed the filing cabinet.

"I'm sorry," Fuery replied. "I shouldn't get this angry over a stupid valve," he said as he held up a small vacuum tube.

Everyone knew how Fuery loved to tinker and get things working. He was never happier than when he was fixing something or improving the performance of a device. So it was no surprise that his frustration was linked to some equipment that he was trying to repair.

Breda leant over to get a closer look at the valve. "That's an odd one," he said as he looked at the small glass tube in Fuery's hand. "What's the problem? Can't you get another one?"

"No." said Fuery. "It's no big deal really. I shouldn't get this upset. But this is from an old transceiver I've had since I was a kid and I was really hoping to get it working again." He handed the valve over to Breda. "Problem is," Fuery continued, "this stye of valve is redundant. No one makes them anymore, and the new ones won't fit."

Breda inspected the valve for a few moments, then handed it back. "You could modify the casing of the transceiver, couldn't you? Make up some kind of adaptor to fit a new one?" he asked.

"Oh yeah, I could, but I really like this old transceiver, it just looks nice and I don't want to screw around with it, ya know," replied Fuery as he looked wistfully at the faulty valve.

No one else in the office could see intrinsic beauty in a radio, but they understood that Fuery could, and they respected his frustration at not being able to repair the transceiver the way he wanted to.

Falman walked over from the filing cabinet. "What's wrong with it?" he asked. "Looks OK to me."

Fuery held up the tube, slightly smaller than his thumb, and pointed to something within.

"Nah, see in there," he said. "The filament's gone. It's useless." And with that Fuery dropped the valve into his waste paper bin.

Falman nodded, not really seeing the problem, but trusting the younger man's judgment that a problem existed.

Havoc stood up from his desk, walked over to Fuery, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder and said, "Well, seems like a good time to commiserate at the cafeteria and get some lunch. Come on Fuery, I'll buy you a sandwich for your woes."

"I'm in." said Breda as he pushed back his chair and stood up. "Anybody else, Lieutenant, Colonel?"

Lieutenant Hawkeye, who had been quietly watching the exchange from her desk said, "Not for me thanks. Though I'd be grateful if you'd bring me back a coffee."

"Sure," said Breda. "Do you want anything Colonel?"

Colonel Mustang hadn't moved the whole time, and remained reclined in his chair.

"The Colonel's unlikely to want anything," answered Hawkeye. "He has to attend a function soon in the Officer's Mess and I doubt he'd want to spoil his appetite."

Havoc laid his hands on Fuery's shoulders and steered the young man, who was obviously still despondent about the valve, away from his desk and with Breda and Falman left the office for lunch.

The door sounded shut with a solid clunk.

Mustang seemed the picture of repose, slumped back into the reclining chair. Hawkeye looked at him and said, "Sir, if you're finished with pretending to sleep you could get these documents signed before you have to go."

There was no immediate response from Mustang as Hawkeye sat there watching him.

Slowly Mustang opened an eye and surveyed the office. Confirming that he and Hawkeye were the only ones left he sat up.

"Why does no one even think to ask?" he said.

"Sorry Sir?" replied Hawkeye somewhat puzzled by his question.

"Alchemist. State qualified. Capable of transmuting matter. Sitting in the same room and no one even thinks to ask," he muttered as he got up and went to Fuery's waste paper bin.

Hawkeye leant back in her chair and watched him.

"Well in their defence, they did think you were sleeping." she replied.

Mustang retrieved the damaged valve from the bin and sighed. "Just sometimes feels like 'Want something blown up, ask the Colonel. Want something fixed?' Yeah, nothing. I sometimes wish that my subordinates at least would think to ask."

Mustang walked slowly back to his desk and held the valve up to the light, inspecting it closely.

"Ah, there you are," he said, either to himself or the valve. Then he sat down and took several sheets of paper from his draw.

He started writing, scribbled a few things out, looked at the valve again. For the next few minutes Mustang wrote and sketched on various sheets of papers, his mood evidently lifting as he did so. He wrote some more, then leant back with his eyes closed for a few minutes.

Hawkeye was fully aware of the Colonel's intention, but couldn't resist the opportunity to gently tease him. "Colonel, are you feeling alright? she queried. "You don't usually start office work so early"

Mustang smiled at her and with an unnecessary flourish, pushed aside all the papers and desk paraphernalia that was in front of him. "Ah but today Lieutenant, office work isn't paper work."

With that he sat back and took a fresh piece of paper, laid it on his desk and started to draw.

Hawkeye stood up and walked over to Mustang's desk. She watched as he skilfully drew a detailed and delicate transmutation circle on the paper. Hawkeye wasn't always sure why, but it made her feel good to see Mustang draw an array. When he had finished he placed the damaged valve in the centre of it.

"Alchemist, be thou for the Team." she said with a smile.

"Well, why not?" Mustang replied. "Alchemy isn't about doing things the easy way, and Fuery isn't asking to do it the easy way. He's trying to fix a thing properly, like he always does. If he can't get the part any other way, then I think it's alright for alchemy to help."

Mustang placed his hands down on the table and activated the array. It glowed, much like a valve, then went dark. He then picked up the glass tube and inspected it closely. The filament was intact and the valve as good as new.

Mustang's eyes twinkled as he found an envelope and went to the typewriter on Havoc's desk. Much to Hawkeye's surprise he deftly wound the envelope into the typewriter and addressed it to Master Sargent Kain Fuery. Then he sealed up the valve and placed the envelope on Fuery's des

"Is there any explanation to go with that?" asked Hawkeye.

"No," said Mustang as he stretched and then shuffled his hands through his hair as though that would make it look groomed. He headed for the door, " Let's just see if they ask for one."

* * *

 _AN - This is my attempt to write some Team Mustang, with a hint of Royai._

 _Thanks for reading and constructive criticism and comments always welcome._


End file.
